


(Statement Given Directly from Subject)

by julllian



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, M/M, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:55:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23046628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julllian/pseuds/julllian
Summary: Jon isn't going to make it without live statements. Martin gives him one.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 3
Kudos: 79





	(Statement Given Directly from Subject)

Jon is tired. I mean, that’s sort of a given these days, but his eyes are so sunken that they feel like they’re about to disappear completely. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, actually.

Jon’s been reading statements. It’s worked, so far, to keep him alive, to keep him fed. To keep him from ripping the trauma out of innocent strangers. It’s been working less and less, though, and in his current condition he knows it’s only a matter of time before he’ll need something... fresh. His frame is even slighter than usual, and he's constantly aware of that chronic, bone-deep chill that comes with hunger. It’s been like this pretty much since he woke up, the ache of it slowly grinding away at him. Jon winces as he recalls the way it felt to pull himself out of the coma, to drag himself back to the world of the living and to leave a part of himself behind. But then he remembers the faint sound of Martin’s voice next to his bed and reminds himself why he came back. It was for him. It was all for him. But now-

Jon hears voices. Whispers. He cranes his neck to see Martin slipping out of Elias’s- Peter’s- office and shutting the door silently behind him. Despite everything, Jon’s heart skips a beat. God, when did he get like this? When Martin turns around and meets Jon’s eyes, he moves to open the door again, to disappear back into Peter’s office. His eyes are frantic, like a spooked horse. Jon leaps up to stop him, to pull him back, anything, but suddenly exhaustion, hunger, everything engulfs him. It overwhelms him completely, like an opportunistic predator clenching its jaw around his neck. All he can muster is two steps and a hoarse “Martin-” before his vision goes spotty and he collapses to the floor.

And Martin doesn’t quite know what to do with that. His first thought, he realizes, is to disappear. To gather the mounting panic in his chest and use it to fuel his escape. He stands there for a moment, gaping at Jon’s crumpled form, until his caretaker reflexes win out over his lonely ones, and he rushes to Jon's side.

“Jon? Jon, can you hear me?” Martin grasps his shoulders, but it feels like if he shakes him awake, Jon’s bones will splinter under the force. Martin searches his face for some hint of consciousness, but there is none. He doesn't know what to do, how to move forward- and again, that now-familiar impulse to disappear embeds itself in his mind. But he can't. The Lonely is important, but this- this needs to take priority. Jon doesn’t seem inclined to regain consciousness anytime soon, so Martin gingerly scoops him up and begins to carry him to the cot in document storage. Jon's hair has grown long since Martin saw him last, and the way it curls softly around his face fills Martin with a strange mixture of guilt and panic and warmth. Carrying Jon's wan form, it puts in mind the countless times Martin has dragged him, sleep-deprived and protesting, to this very bed, and he wonders with a pang of guilt how many times Jon has slept at his desk in his absence. Jon's body- it just feels so lifeless, and Martin realises with a start that Jon felt like this when he was in the hospital. He jogs the rest of the way to artifact storage. He lays Jon down on the bed, and now he’s really panicking because how could he just let Jon waste away for so long? And he doesn’t know how to help him and he didn’t feel a pulse while carrying him and he didn’t feel breathing either and Jon can’t be dead. The last word of that thought hits him like a freight train, unexpected and unwelcome. It knocks the wind out of him.

That’s when Basira bursts through the door, engrossed in a book and nearly barreling straight into Martin. She looks up.

“Oh. Sorry.” Her voice is cold, and her eyes are back in her book before she finishes the last word. She walks right back out of the room, and Martin is flooded with a peculiar, slightly sour relief. It doesn’t last long, though, and he realises that if anyone knows how to help Jon, it’s probably Basira. His breath quickens as he looks from Jon to the door and back again. It makes his stomach turn, but he has to talk to her. It’s the only way.

“Basira, wait!” he cries after her. She actually looks shocked as she turns around to face him and starts walking back down the hallway.

“What is it?” All the annoyance has left her voice, leaving only puzzlement and a little concern.

“It- It’s Jon. He sort of... collapsed, and now he isn’t breathing, and- I don’t know what to do.” Basira’s face falls.

“Oh, yeah, the statements... the old statements haven’t been sustaining him as well these days. And I’m not going to let him go after innocent people.” Her voice is hard again, resolute. Martin is at a loss.

“And what, just let him- let him die?” As soon as the words leave his mouth, Martin feels his heart beat faster against his ribs.

“He dies, and the world loses another monster.” Basira shoots back. That shocks Martin speechless, so he just sputters until his brain can form a coherent retort.

“H- how could you say that?” He finally manages, “How could you possibly say that?”

“I didn’t,” Basira says sternly, “Jon did. His words exactly.” Martin is silent.

And then Basira walks away, leaving him to stare into an empty corridor.

He shuffles back into document storage, his eyes distant. His mind is blank for a moment before he starts to think. Martin tries to consider the situation rationally, to quell the shaky dread that threatens to overwhelm him. He’s not going to get any help with this. Deep down, there’s a twisted sort of relief at that, but he very pointedly ignores it. He feels as if he might collapse himself, light-headed from the quick, anxious breathing. His thoughts are frantic, tracing every possible way forward and coming up with only dead ends, fear colouring his thoughts like a blotchy stain. If only he could think clearly; if only it weren't for this awful dread. And then it hits him, clear as day. If Jon needs a live statement, a fresh one, filled with fear, then it looks like Martin has one last option. To take one look at Jon is all the compulsion he needs. Somewhere in the room, a tape recorder clicks on. Martin clears his throat.

“Statement of Martin Blackwood, assistant to- just Martin Blackwood. Regarding... Regarding you, Jon, I suppose."

Martin takes a shaky breath. This will work, he tells himself. It has to work.

"Statement begins:  
I don’t know when I started to like you. Maybe it was the first time I saw you, maybe it was when you offered to let me stay in the archives. There was a lot going on then, and it was all a bit of a blur." Martin pauses, taking a deep breath.   
"I do know when I started to love you, though. That was when Prentiss attacked. When you talked about why you were so harsh on statement givers, and how you felt like something was watching you... we really had no idea, did we? But, hiding out there, I realized that this was something you’d never told anyone before. You didn’t exactly have any friends outside the institute, you were always working, and you weren’t exactly... open about your feelings. This secret, you’d kept it bottled up for so long, and you were telling me. I mean, we were about to be eaten by worms, so I guess it didn’t really matter who you told, but it still meant a lot to me. When I turned around in the tunnels and you weren’t behind me, that really scared me, Jon. It sounds stupid now, but I'll be honest, I almost sat down right there and wept. You had told me your secret, hell, you had let me pull the worms out of your leg with a corkscrew. You trusted me. The thought of losing that was terrifying. And then afterwards, you were so cagey about everything. You barely slept or ate, you just rooted through everyone’s trash and sulked. That scared me too, but in a very different way. That's the thing, I was always afraid for you. I suppose the Lonely suits me quite well, in that way. Even when the fate of the world hung in the balance, the thing that frightened me the most was always losing you. 

“And then it happened. You died. And I didn’t know what to do. My greatest fear had been realized, and you can’t be afraid of something that’s already happened. It was literally my worst case scenario. Game over, bad ending. What are you supposed to do when that happens? When the worst thing you can imagine comes to pass? I was numb, and sure, I pleaded at your bedside for you to come back, but I didn’t think it would actually work. When I heard that you were alive my life had purpose again. All the fear that had been rendered useless when your heartbeat stopped came rushing back to me, flooding back in monumental doses. That fear distilled itself into a rock-solid certainty: I would not let you die again."

Martin takes off his glasses, letting the world go blurry in front of his eyes. The view is almost familiar by now- it's just the same when he's looking at the archives through fog.

“I’m scared, Jon. I really am. I'm scared that you'll die, that maybe you're already dead. I'm scared that the Lonely will claim me, but I also sort of want the Lonely to claim me and that scares me, too. I don’t know what power is feeding off of my terror right now, but whatever it is, it’s doing pretty well for itself. I’m so afraid, Jon. But I’d rather be afraid than grieving. Um, statement ends.”

The tape recorder clicks off, and the room is silent save for Martin’s stifled crying. And then- another sound, from where Jon lays on the cot. Heavy, labored breathing. It's rough, and shallow, but it's there. Martin can hear it. It's real. Jon’s eyes flutter open. They see Martin for a split second. Then he disappears, leaving Jon alone in the empty room.

**Author's Note:**

> waaa thank you so much for reading! i wrote this at 2am while waiting for my melatonin to kick in so i'm sorry if it's incomprehensible lol. this is my first post on ao3 and i have many, many more jonmartin fics in the works.


End file.
